


The Art of the Possible

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Community: dw_guestfest, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen's taken an unpaid internship — with an up-and-coming political star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of the Possible

**Author's Note:**

> For [dw_guestfest](dw-guestfest.livejournal.com), prompt "Karen (from the Eighth Doctor audios) working with the Master."
> 
> I think that in this story, Karen is as she was before the Time Lords decided to improve her timeline.

"Miss Coltraine." Harold Saxon gave his visitor a firm handshake and a politician's smile of welcome. "I got your letter, of course, and your CV. Do sit down, please." 

Karen took her seat on the indicated side of the desk and forced a smile of her own. "Thanks." 

"Great." Rather than sitting opposite her, Saxon perched on the corner of the desk. "So, why did you apply for an internship with me?" 

"Well. Y'know. I've always been interested in politics and that. And I couldn't go to some pon— some expensive university and join their debating societies and so on, so I thought I'd try this way. See if I was any good at it." 

"With you so far. But why me? Your local MP's Sir Charles Cartwright, isn't he? What's wrong with him?... OK, what _isn't_ wrong with him, but I meant for your purposes?" 

"He's just a slob. Spends all his time wandering round having his picture taken. You're going somewhere, Mr Saxon. I want to be part of that." 

"Fair enough." Saxon rummaged on the desk and produced what Karen recognised as her application letter and CV. "Now, what would you say was your greatest achievement in your life so far?" 

"Um." Karen tried to remember how honest she'd been when composing her application. "Probably when I got to run the school paper. There was a lot of competition," she added, noting his expression of amusement. 

"And what techniques did you use to reach this pinnacle of personal glory?" He leaned forward, and added sharply "Blackmail?" 

"Now just a minute..." 

"Miss Coltraine — Karen — if we're to work together I need to know what you're capable of. Now, I've asked around, and from what I hear Leila Dawson was favourite for the job. Until she suddenly pulled out. Your work?" 

"You really have gone into it, haven't you?" Karen felt a thrill of what might have been fear or excitement. "She cheated in her GCSEs. Serve her right if she'd got found out." 

"She didn't get found out, did she?" 

"No. But she owed me big time after that." Karen attempted to assume a casual air, though her heart was pounding. "I just called in a favour." 

"Breaking and entering?" He had more documents in his hand now, that might have been part of a police file. "Murder?" 

"Nothing you could prove," Karen shot back. She was half expecting to be thrown out for impertinence, but couldn't resist it. After all, if Jimmy Melville hadn't wanted to die of an overdose, he shouldn't have been taking drugs in the first place, should he? 

Instead of throwing her out, Saxon merely laughed. 

"You'll do," he said. "Start on Monday." 

⁂

"So what happens now?" Karen asked. She'd turned up at Saxon's constituency office as directed to find him with his feet on the desk. A portable CD player was blaring out what sounded like Atomic Kitten at ear-hurting volumes. 

He looked up, and put one hand to his ear. "What?" 

"WHAT HAPPENS NOW?" Karen repeated. 

Saxon directed a kick at the CD player, knocking it off the desk. It fell silent with a croak. 

"Let's see how good your political antennae are, toots," he said. "What do I want?" 

Karen thought about this. "What d'you mean?" 

"It's a simple question. What do I want?" 

"I suppose... you want to get re-elected. Right?" 

"That'll do for starters." 

"OK. So you need to make sure people vote for you and not..." Karen tried to dredge up the names of the other candidates, and drew a blank. "That bloke in the donkey jacket and the woman with the glasses." 

"Not forgetting the little one with the hat, of course." Saxon put his hands behind his head. "The Labour candidate, Simon Andrews — or Donkey Jacket, as you seem to think he's called — is having a campaign meeting this afternoon. And it's going to be a disaster." 

"Why? What are you gonna do?" 

"Nothing. You're going to do it." 

"You mean—" 

"I want to see what you're made of, toots." He grinned. "I could always cut you open, I suppose." 

Karen forced a laugh, though she wasn't entirely sure he was joking. "So where's this meeting happening?" 

"Find out. Use your initiative." 

"You're kidding me." 

He shook his head. "I'm really not." 

⁂

Running on pure adrenaline, with soot on her clothes and face, Karen clambered down the drainpipe of the South Chestergate Working Men's Association and looked around for a means of escape. In the distance, she could hear the sirens of fire engines; closer to hand, Donkey Jacket and his supporters were gathering outside the burning building. There was an alley nearby, an almost invisible gap between two squalid buildings. She dashed into it, collided with a dustbin, rebounded off a wall, and fell in an undignified heap. 

Before she could recover, a bright light was shining in her face. 

"Hello hello hello," Harold Saxon's voice said, somewhere behind the light. "What's all this, then?" 

"You!" Karen was still trying to get her breath back. "I... I..." 

She was pulled to her feet. The light snapped off, leaving her vision full of red and purple blurs. 

"And what was all that supposed to be?" Saxon asked. 

"All what?" 

He took hold of the collar of her jacket and shoved her hard against the wall. "Setting fire to that building. People could have been killed." 

"I didn't know you cared." 

"Of course I don't care, you cloth-headed greenhorn! Are you so thick you can't even work out what you've done wrong?" 

"Look, you said you wanted a disaster. I got you a disaster." 

"You _are_ a disaster. Do you have any idea how many fingerprints you left in there? I had to wipe them off everything, and that's really not what I went into politics for." He lowered his voice. "One more mistake like that and the next time anyone sees you, it'll be in that dustbin. In pieces." 

He let go of Karen. 

"Right," he said, his voice instantly reverting to its usual cheerful tone. "Back to party HQ for a pizza." 

Karen pulled herself together. It was going to take more than a few threats from Saxon to frighten her, she told herself firmly. 

"Do I have to steal that, too?" she asked. 

"Not worth the effort. No-one ever took over the world by stealing a pizza." 

"And that's what you want to do? Take over the world?" 

"No, toots, that's what I'm _going_ to do." 

Karen tried to match his jocular manner. "Unless I get there first." 

"You want to ride my coat-tails to victory and then stab me in the back?" He wheeled on her, and for a moment Karen felt the rush of fear again. Instead, he patted her cheek. "Maybe you are cut out for a career in politics, after all." 

"I was thinking more like _Star Wars_ ", Karen said. "You know. 'Always two, there are, a master and an apprentice.'" 

For some reason he seemed to find that amusing. "Half right, toots. But if you wanted to be an apprentice you should have sent your CV to Alan Sugar." 

"Nah." Karen shook her head decisively. "No way I'd ever work for someone with such a rubbish beard."


End file.
